Herbs and Child's Play
by jkleeberger22
Summary: While playing healer, Eowyn and her friend have a question about the usefulness of kingsfoil. Theodwyn answers with a story about a stranger named Thorongil.


_Disclaimer: As always, Middle Earth belongs to Tolkien, not me._

o0o

"Come, Eowyn! Let's play healer," Rainel called, darting out the door. Eowyn followed, stripping off her stockings and shoes so she could run fleet footed on the downy grass.

"All right, if I can be a soldier with lots of battle wounds," Eowyn agreed. She walked over to the "armory," which was in fact a pile of kindling. Grabbing a stick, Eowyn hefted it in her hand and swung experimentally. "Too heavy," she murmured, and tossed the rejected branch back onto the pile. The second "sword" was a much better fit, and it was with a touch of pride that Eowyn adopted the fighting stance she had seen the Riders use during sword drills. She could do it much better than Eomer, even though he had a real sword and Eowyn merely a stick. She had pouted and pleaded about the injustice of this, but Father had merely laughed. "Wait a few years, my little shield maiden," he had said, eyes twinkling. "When you are a bit older, I shall see that you have the finest sword your uncle's armory can provide!"

Until then, she would just have to practice with the branch. Eowyn swung it through the air in a graceful maneuver and imagined it meeting an orc's weapon with a resounding, satisfying clang. She stepped back and parried her enemy's blow, then swooped in to stab at the area under his arm he had foolishly left undefended. It was there his armor was weak, Eowyn knew. Just as she was ready to incapacitate her adversary, Rainel's voice irreverently interrupted the battle.

"Hurry up, Eowyn! I need someone to tend."

Her foe took full advantage of the distraction and plunged his sword deep into her side. Eowyn groaned and fell to her knees. Just as the orc towered over her, ready to deal a death blow, Eowyn struck out with her foot. It was a powerful kick, and the orc stumbled forward. Sucking in her breath and trying to ignore the pain, Eowyn grabbed the orc's shoulder and used it to yank herself upright. With a well-aimed slash, she severed her enemy's neck. *

"Eowyn, are you done yet?"

The wounded warrior began to feel the extent of her injury as the joyous heat of battle began to drain from her limbs. "H-help me," Eowyn rasped dramatically. The most capable healer ran to her side and wrapped a supporting arm around Eowyn's waist to help her off the battle field. Rainel had spread a blanket from the stables on the ground for a bed, and Eowyn breathed in the comforting smell of horse as she laid down to submit to her healer's ministrations.

"Here," Rainel commanded, holding out a chipped tea cup filled with liquid. "Drink this herb tea."

Eowyn looked doubtfully at the crumbled bits of garden leaves floating in the water. "What's in it?"

"Herbs!" came the impatient reply.

"I meant, what kind?" Eowyn replied, with far more self-restraint than her friend.

Rainel hesitated, and Eowyn knew she was trying to remember the names she had seen in her grandmother's book of herb lore. It had come from Gondor, and Rainel had been very proud when she was allowed to look at the pages. "Kingsfoil," she finally said.

Eowyn raised herself up on one arm and looked at Rainel with surprise. "Kingsfoil has no use for healing!"

"You are the warrior, Eowyn! You're not supposed to know to know about herbs."

"You don't have to be a healer to know kingsfoil hasn't any use," Eowyn protested.

"It's used as an infusion for headaches."

"I meant, it's not any good for healing a serious illness." Eowyn took a cautious sip of the "tea" and fought off the urge to spit out the bitter leaves. She wrinkled her nose up in an expression of distaste, but her theatrics were wasted on her friend. Rainel was still considering Eowyn's statements, staring thoughtfully at the cup before nodding.

"All right, I will ask at the noon meal. Now lie down, so I can wash and bandage your wound." Rainel said, her voice holding the firm command of a healer berating an errant patient. She held up a handful of cloths borrowed from the kitchen and a small cup of water.

"You're not really going to get me wet, are you? Mother would be furious if I got my dress wet."

Rainel's eyes glittered almost wickedly, and the cup came a few inches nearer.

"Rainel!"

With the same quick reflexes she had pretended to hone in mock combat, Eowyn's hand shot up and flicked several drops of water out of the cup. Rainel gave a small shriek and returned the favor. Soon both girls were water-speckled and laughing, battle wounds and impudent patients forgotten alike.

O0o

"Mama, is kingsfoil good for healing?" Eowyn asked as she ate her lunch. Rainel seemed too awed in the presence of Eowyn's mother, the king's sister and the former King Thengel's daughter, to inquire about the healing properties of herbs.

"Not if you or I were to use it," Theodwyn answered.

Eowyn sat up a bit straighter, shooting a triumphant smile at her friend.

"But in the hands of a king, it can bring about miracles. Or so they say in Gondor."

"What do you mean, Mama?" Eowyn asked, studiously ignoring Rainel's smirk. "Can Uncle Théoden use it?"

"No, child. It was said that the kings of Numenor had the hands of healers. It was they who could use kingsfoil- hence the name." Theodwyn smiled when she saw the confusion on the children's faces. "Do you want to hear a story about when king Théoden was just a child?"

"Oh, yes!" Two heads bobbed up and down in vehement unison.

O0o

Théoden had a good friend who lived on a settlement far from Edoras. With permission from Thengel, he rode with two of the Riders to visit his friend's home. It was a long ride for one so young, but he was a good horseman and enjoyed being outside instead of in the study at Edoras with his tutor. His friend Anudor was very glad to see him, and they immediately began to embark on various adventures. Sometimes Anudor's little sister, Anneth, would follow them and beg to be allowed in their games. One such time, the lads were camping along a river bank when they heard a rustle from the bushes.

"It's Anneth! Come on, let's hide and surprise her!" Anudor said. Both boys giggled as they scrambled up a nearby tree. It was Anneth, and she was puzzled to find her brother and Théoden were not in the clearing. She was hot and tired, though, so she stooped and took a drink from the river. Now, the river had been forded by orcs, and some foul, tasteless poison from their weapons must have tainted the water. The children did not know this, so they were not concerned when Anneth took a drink. Théoden and Anudor leapt down from the tree branches to surprise Anneth, and all three enjoyed an afternoon of play at the river's edge.

That evening, Anneth fell deathly ill. Théoden and Anudor had drunk from their water skins, and thus they were spared from the sickness. The river had always been clean before, and no one knew why Anneth was so ill until her father Anlaf rode to the river the next day. The water had a slight scent that had been indistinguishable to a small child, but Anneth's father recognized it from his time fighting orcs with the Riders. The substance that had sullied the waters was tainted with an evil born by the orcs from far off Mordor, and there was no cure to help Anniel. Théoden was glad when he and Anudor were sent outside, away from the dark, stifling sickroom.

"It was my fault. I should have kept her from drinking the water!" Anudor said. Théoden attempted to console him, but his efforts were of no avail. Dismayed when his friend started to cry, Théoden didn't notice the rapid thud of booted feet. "What is wrong?" a voice, tinted with concern, asked in Westron. The stranger was tall, with dark locks of hair shorn at his shoulders. He wore a long grey cloak fastened with a star shaped brooch, and his eyes were the same shade as the cloth of his garment. "Why do you cry?" he asked again. Anudor looked up when he heard the words, abrupt and strange compared to the rolling tongue of Rohan. Théoden answered the man's question, for he knew some words of Westron from his lessons. It was something a future king had to be tutored in, because of Rohan's relations with Gondor. Haltingly, Théoden told the stranger about Anneth's illness and the unclean water.

The stranger knelt and placed a reassuring hand on Anudor's shoulder. "Do not cry, lad. Ask your mother and father if I may see Anneth, for I may be able to help."

The kind touch was understood even though the words were not, so Anudor nodded and swiped obediently at his tears. Théoden translated the stranger's message, and his friend went inside to do the man's bidding. Once Anudor was out of hearing, Théoden eyed the man with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity.

"Who are you? Where do you come from?" the questions spilled out of his mouth. In his excitement, the words of the unfamiliar language came out badly mangled, but the stranger seemed to understand.

"I come from the North to seek a position in which I can serve King Thengel. My name is Thorongil."

"Are you coming to be a- "Théoden paused, trying to remember the strange syllables. "A healer?"

"Nay, a warrior."

"But what does a warrior know of healing?" Théoden asked, then blushed. He was the son of the king, and he knew it was not proper for him to question a full grown man and a stranger to their land in such an impertinent manner. Before he could remember the right words for an apology, however, the door creaked open. Anudor's father stepped out, and Théoden was relieved to discover that Anlaf too could understand Thorongil's tongue. He knew that playing the part of translator would have been too great a strain on his limited understanding of Westron.

"You say you can help my daughter," Anlaf said sternly. "Why do you wish to help us? Who are you?"

"You may call me Thorongil," the man replied. He noticed Anlaf's frown and said softly, "I understand your concern. Not many a man would entrust his daughter's life into the hands of a stranger."

"You speak truly," returned Anlaf. His eyes were hard and cold, searching, but the other man did not shy away from his gaze.

"Please, let me tend her," Thorongil said earnestly. "I know that which she suffers from, and without tending, she will die."

The two men stood almost eye to eye. Thorongil was tall, but Anudor's father had drawn himself up to his full height as he stared at the stranger in stony silence. When the Rider spoke, his voice was strong and accusing. "I know what you think. You think that she can be no worse off than she is now."

Thorongil met his eye and replied simply, "Yes."

Anlaf sighed, and his shoulders sagged. The stern, strong Rider was replaced by a weary, worried father who had no choice but to grasp at this final hope. "Very well, I see the wisdom in your reasoning. But know that if you intentionally harm or misuse her, you shall have me to reason with."

Thorongil nodded his understanding. "These are dark times, and your caution is wise. Now, where is the child?" he asked. "We have not a moment to lose."

At Thorongil's request, he was led to the pump outdoors and given soap to lather his hands. When he had washed and dried, he was given a seat at Anneth's bedside. "Please, bring me a basin of hot water," Thorongil said as he bent to touch Anneth's brow, checking the extent of the fever. When the basin was brought, Thorongil took a small leather sack from the pack he had been carrying. He opened it and withdrew a small handful of dried herbs, which he sprinkled into the steaming water. A sweet smell beyond imagining filled the room. Thorongil leaned over the child and called her name, his voice firm but kind. "Anneth, come back to me."

Thorongil sat up and gestured to Anudor's father. "Call her in your language," he said. "It is only the sound of her loved ones' voices that can dispel the last of the darkness."

Anlaf imploringly called his daughter's name, and to everyone's surprise, Anneth stirred. Her eyes opened, and they were clear and bright. With cries of joy, her family flew to her side. Thorongil rose to leave, but not before he gestured to Anneth's mother. "Most of the fluid she drank should have already passed through her body. On its own, it was not over dangerous. It was the influence of the evil upon her that brought her so close to death. Now that Anneth had been able to cast off the darkness, she should be able to recover. Give her plenty of water to drink, and the last of the substance shall be gone with time."

Anlaf noticed that Thorongil was preparing to leave and was immediately at the man's side, clasping his hand with heartfelt gratitude. "Oh, thank you! But how can I repay you?"

"By not telling anyone what I have done."

"But why?" Anudor's father looked at him in puzzled confusion. "You have done our family as great a service as any man can do. Should not others hear of your skill and generosity?"

"Doubtless my knowledge of the healing arts will be soon discovered, and I shall be glad to employ them for the benefit of those under Thengel's command. However, for a time, I do not want to draw undue attention to myself. It concerns my past," Thorongil said. A smile crept upon his face, and he added softly, "And my future."

"I do not understand your wish, Thorongil, but you have restored my daughter's life. If that is all you ask in payment, then I will grant it."

O0o

"And King Théoden never told anyone, either?" Rainel asked. "And the herb Thorongil used, it was kingsfoil?"

Theodwyn smiled. "My brother told only me. And yes, while Theoden cannot be certain, he thinks that it was kingsfoil."

"Was that man a king?" Eowyn asked eagerly.

"Oh, no, child. Why would a king come to Rohan to fight as a common soldier?"

Although that was puzzling, Eowyn was not ready to give up on the idea of the man being a king. She liked the thought of Uncle Théoden being in a grand tale, one that might be sung about some day. "But what of the rhyme, that the hands of a king are the hands of a healer?" she protested.

"The lore of Gondor has become muddled throughout the years, and no doubt that is just a bit of jumbled rhyme. Nonetheless, it makes for a nice story."

"A _very_ nice story," Rainel added.

"But, Mother, who was Thorongil? What happened to him? Was he-" Eowyn's eyes widened in sudden recognition. "Captain Thorongil? The one who led an eored?"

"Yes. Although he arrived to serve as a common soldier, Thorongil soon became a captain because of his wisdom and valiant heart. He was a favorite of my father, and your uncle saw him several times in the halls of Edoras during his boyhood. As to who Thorongil was when he lived in the North?" Theodwyn shook her head in wonder. "No one ever found out his true name nor his lineage."

"Then maybe he truly was a king!" exclaimed Eowyn. "He could have been anyone."

Her mother laughed. "Aye," she agreed fondly, reaching over to brush a kiss against Eowyn's forehead. "Now, run along and play in this beautiful sunshine while it lasts."

"Now we can play healer," Rainel said with satisfaction as the children strolled outside. "I can be a king, and I'll heal you with kingsfoil."

"You cannot be a king. You are not a man," came the practical reply.

Rainel's face fell, then brightened as she caught sight of Eomer leaving the stables. "Eomer can be king, then. Let's ask him."

Rainel suddenly became shy when they reached Eomer, so the task of questioning again fell to Eowyn. "Eomer, will you play with us? We need a healer to cure me with kingsfoil."

"What? What about Rainel?"

"She is not a man nor a boy, so she cannot be a king. You have to be a king to heal with kingsfoil," Eowyn explained patiently.

The corners of Eomer's eyes crinkled in good natured confusion. "Kingsfoil has no use for healing, Eowyn."

"Yes, it does," Eowyn beamed. She loved hearing stories, but telling them was even better. "Once," she began importantly, "when Uncle Théoden was a boy, there was a man named Thorongil."


End file.
